Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Dog Days

On Sunday
June 9th 2012, Angele Lazurko, 20, and Matthieu Arbour, 21, both
from Sudbury Ontario, left Lazurko's 1½ year old dog, Tucker, in the back seat
of their parked car. They went inside the Vaughan Mills Mall, just outside
Toronto, for over 2 hours, leaving only a small crack in a window for
ventilation. Temperatures in Vaughan that afternoon reached 32ºC (89.6ºF). A
passerby noticed the trapped dog and alerted mall staff who then called 911. Rescuers
attempted to splash the dog with water through the insufficient crevice, to
little avail. Tucker died before emergency services arrived on the scene. Both parties
face animal cruelty charges. Police were
called to the Vaughan Mills parking lot around 2:15 P.M. and found the Weimaraner
and Chocolate Labrador cross unresponsive. Emergency crews forced their way
inside the vehicle, breaking a window, however it was too late. The cause of
the dog's death is unknown, but the temperature at the time the police arrived
was an unforgiving 28ºC (82.4ºF). The pair was in the Toronto area to attend
Woofstock, North America's largest festival for dogs when they decided to do a
little shopping. The Ontario
SPCA receives "six to eight calls a week" during the summer regarding
dogs trapped in cars. Every year, come the dog days, people leave their responsibility
behind them, ignorantly believing, or not caring, that their animal is safe. I
suppose they forget that the same rules of nature apply to everyone, including our
canine friends. Even with a space in the window, dehydration can take place
very quickly. Fifteen minutes can have deadly consequences. Calls in Ontario for
harsher sentences resulting from such neglect and cruelty have, thus far,
fallen on deaf ears. People who
leave their pets unattended in a sweltering vehicle are just as neglectful as
if a child was left in the same situation. Abandon your child to the backseat
of your car on a hot sunny day and you'll end up with a charge much more severe
than cruelty or abuse. It seems to me that somehow animals don't matter as
much, their value is not equal. Tell that to the kind-hearted soul for whom a
dog is their child. Of course, people forsake their own kids to this type of
automotive hell all the time. This does little to lessen my anger regarding this
treatment and the way some recklessly disregard their pet's right to refuge. Animals
are entitled to the same dignity and compassion that human beings are. Why do
we casually cast them aside, well knowing the consequence when we do?Dogs are supposed to be man's best friend.
This statement not only implies, it demands, they are granted the same right to
respect, consideration and safety that children are. When you own a dog, it is
not only your responsibility to give them a good life, but also to make sure
they have a dignified death. It's the least we can do.

Although I
have spotted memory of the three dogs my family owned when I was a wee lad,
Trixie and Chico and Sparky, it is a medium-sized purebred poodle named Nugget
who brings back my fondest childhood memories of this creature called the dog.
We got Nuggy from my Dad's sister, who ran a kennel farm at the time. At
approximately eight months of age, he looked nothing like a poodle. He wasn't unkempt;
he was covered with a dense, curly mound of soft, almost golden brown hair,
thus the name. His tiny tail was a curlicue at the end of the line. The only
time he was ever humiliated by clippers was to free his summer hair for
regrowth before winter. Year after year, he was transformed from Benji to
weasel, his light grey skin so foreign to the sun. Despite city living, Nugget fared well. He had
his own yard, his own space and five children to torment him and love him. I
could not have imagined when we got him home in 1972, that he would become such
a longtime member of our family. We thought of him as one. When we moved, late
summer 1976, to the pseudo-country living of Strathroy Ontario, Nugget's reward
for his friendship was parks and lanes and forest to play in. He had a huge
front and back yard for his pleasure. He even had his own room, if you count
the garage as one. He was always such a pleasant dog.

As he aged,
so too did his family. He sat alone much more than he once did. When the
children of those children found legs, and discovered the dog in the yard, he
once more was cherished and embraced by childhood fancy. As the dog days of his
summer settled in for the waiting game, he didn't bark as much, he didn't run
as much, but his presence was always just a step outside the house. I can remember
how soft and warm his fur was, how it bounced back to skin when you petted him.
Growing old did not change anything but the speed of his stride. Up to the day
he died, he was aged but still Nugget. I spent a lot of my free time as a
teenager with him. It often felt like he was my only friend. Words cannot
express my fondness, even though he was just a dog. August of
1988 was extremely hot in southern Ontario, Canada. Nugget was incontinent and
had to be kept out in the garage for sanitary reasons. One day I found him,
shaking, on the cool floor of his room. He was a good age at 16 years, but he
somehow seemed so much older. I picked him up with great concern and witnessed
maggots squirming in the lining of his mouth. We knew his health was compromised,
sometimes even weak, but we never imagined he would end in this place. The day
before, Nugget and I sat underneath a tree up on the hill, together one last
time. He seemed fine. I cannot explain what happened; the extreme heat must
have caught up with him. The Vet later told me that bugs lay their larva in old
animals all the time but somehow I wish I could have done something so that he had
avoided such pain. We never knew.I
alerted the household and a friend of the family took him over to the animal hospital
to be put to sleep. He was the first animal laid to rest in the yard, up on the
hill beneath the Lillie of the Valley and a spruce tree.

The first
time I saw Teddy, I almost pissed my pants. He scared the living shit out of
me. His onslaught was ferocious. I hoped his chain would hold. I had been
attacked and wounded by an Irish Setter when I was almost 8, leaving great
trepidation toward larger, more aggressive dogs. Teddy was both. An enormous, deep-black
Chow Chow, weighing well over 75 pounds, he seemed to me a juggernaut. I knew
the breed was considered a "high risk dog" and that it was in his
nature to protect the home, but that did little to stop me almost crapping in
my shorts. First there was the snarl, then he would withdraw to the growl,
lunge, then one more, then stop and show his teeth. He stood there, mocking me.
I just knew it. I was his toy, covered in my own fear. He sensed it, I know he
did. I ran, and ran, then I ran some more.

The job I
was offered did not come with instructions for Teddy. With the main entrances
protected by his might, I had to widen my pattern of approach. For weeks we
played this game; every time he was the champion. The porch, which overlooked
his den, stretched out into the backyard so I could stand in safety overlooking
the beast.One afternoon, I was sitting
on the deck eating my lunch when I heard the strangest noise. I took to the
rail to investigate. Sitting 10 feet below me, staring right back, Teddy whined
even louder, like a stuck pig would. The toss was made from sympathy. The
cookie met a horrid fate. The dog was in love. The very
next day, I started bringing treats for my new friend. Every chance I got, I
tossed a nibble of this and a handful of that. Eventually, he allowed me to
feed him by hand. Suddenly, I was able to pet him, and then brush him. When I
walked him, he walked me. He was the most impressive animal I have ever had the
privilege to experience up close and personal. It's odd how the fiercest are
often the most faithful.For someone so
terrified of large dogs, with an allergy to dog saliva, you would think I would
have avoided wrestling with such a monster. Each night, before heading for
home, I would approach the ring for battle. He knew exactly what was coming. He
jumped and clamped onto my arm, twisting and shifting it with the stretch of my
leather jacket. I could feel him controlling himself, he was playing and I knew
it. Teddy's
nature got the best of him. I don't know why he attacked that woman, but I know
that he did. I could not have taken him home with me. He had to be put down. It's
one thing to strut your stuff, but it is something very different when you try
to bite someone's calf off their leg. This did nothing to lessen my pain, or
his destiny. I used to sit up on the hillside and watch as clients and visitors
came and went, all the while observing this fascinating dog do his job. I have
to believe it was not his animal nature that I came to know, rather his true
nature that I got to experience.

Shortly
after Teddy's death, the other dog from that household, Skipper, was brought
fully into my life. I had contact with him while at work, but Teddy had
garnered my attention rather than Skip. A white Cockapoo, around 13 years of
age, he was almost completely blind from cataracts when I finally agreed to
take him home. My decision was not a difficult one to make. His owners were
forced to leave him to nature, chained by the same string of metal that once
held Teddy. He was uncontrollable, difficult and very much a mess. I found him literally
screaming against the rock wall, begging God and mercy to set him free from his
dark place. I couldn't bear to leave him there.

I suppose
it was memories of Nugget, left out in the garage, which played on my
sympathies. The moment he was set down in my home, he changed completely. He
turned from a fractured victim of his own health to the vibrant and loving pet
I had seen glimpses of while I was at work. I had made the right decision. He
took to his new life as if he had been waiting for it all of his old life. I
was amazed how well he adapted to his new environment. I have never been
witness to any creature holding onto life with such fierce resolve; nothing
seemed to take away his zest for living. Almost in an instant, he became part
of the family. After a few days of adjustment, even my 15 year old cat Gizmo
took to his presence. It seemed there was nothing Skippy could not rise above.For years,
this poor blind dog demonstrated nothing but a passion for living. When I was
forced to relocate to my parents' home for a few months, he even took to
Nugget's space like a trooper. For me, my strongest memories are of walking
him, like Nuggy, down the street on snowy evenings and sneaking him inside on
harsh cold nights. When I found myself resettled in Kitchener, his end began. First
it was the incontinence, a sure sign of impending doom. Then his blindness
worsened. Often he became lost and found himself at the bottom of my staircase,
despite the blocked entrance. When his teeth started falling out, you could not
ignore it was time. The day
before the deed was done, the sunshine was gruelling and humidity hung heavy in
the air. I took him into the shower with me, to lighten his load. He seemed to
whimper softer than he usually did. I remember him standing in this rain like
it was yesterday. The next day, Monday July 4th 2005, and the choice
to say goodbye was made for him. There was no way what had happened to Nugget
was going to happen to Skip. They almost sit together now, up on the hilltop;
his stone has shifted with the passage of time. As much as I tell myself that
it was the right thing to do, as much as I just know it, I cannot help feeling guilty,
almost as if I murdered him. All the amount of mercy that was given that day cannot
replace his loving ways and the tender moments this family shared with him. Even
though he really wasn't my dog, I think I miss him most of all.

Examining
these dog days has been like sticking pins into my eyes. It fucking hurts. I
guess I miss my friends. Even though they are gone, they are always going to be
a part of me. The pictures of them that are scattered throughout my home do not
stand discreetly or in shadow. Like photographs of my parents and my partners,
they mingle with the mosaic of my life caught on film. They will always be part
of the best days from my living. The reward for their camaraderie was dignity
and a painless death. These things were the best things that could be offered to
them in the end.

Most people
do not seem to form attachments to animals like I do. The difference is that I
believe everything has a soul, especially animals. I never forget that I will
one day be held responsible for my actions which involved them. I will have to
answer for the way I treated each and every one. Some people are way too stupid
to realize this. A pet for them is as easily discarded as a wrapper from a
chocolate bar. I would imagine the same retards that leave a dog in their car
on a summer's day also beat their children and think its okay.It is not okay. Maybe if we tied Angele Lazurko,
and her caring boyfriend, in the backseat of some automobile, then rolled up
the windows to hold in a hot summer day, they might consider their actions
before they commit to them. For their sake, let us hope freedom comes to them
before their kidneys fail, their lungs stop working or their brains explode.
Lazurko claims to have loved her dog. I would not want to see what she would
have done had she hated it.

About Me

"If you are a dreamer come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you're a pretender come sit by my fire for we have some flax golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!”....... (Shel Silverstein)